З життя
Час для смутку, час для радості…
Час для суму і час для радості…
Вона впевнено вела автомобіль, об’їжджаючи великі калюжі, прямуючи до рідного села, до батьківського дому. Ще влітку вирішила провести тут відпустку, зібравши теплі та затишні речі: два пледи, піжаму, вовняні шкарпетки, книги, дорогий каву, якісний чай. Кіт на ім’я Граф гордо і незворушно лежав на сумках, байдужо дивлячись у вікно, ніби всі два роки життя тільки й робив, що їздив у авто. До села, так до села, аби не забували годувати і частіше гладити.
Раніше на відпустку завжди їхали на море. Чоловік помер рік тому, і в душі ще живе біль втрати, у сина своя родина, інші інтереси, і морем вона наситилась вдосталь. Хочеться побродити по лісу, вдихнути густий аромат сосни, збирати гриби, готувати жарке з білих грибів та солити опеньки з листям смородини, ласувати брусницею та варити з неї варення, пекти ватрушки, пити парне молоко, почути, як жалібно прощаються гуси, що летять на південь, і сказати їм: повертайтеся. Що це, запитувала вона себе, чому так хочеться шльопати босими ногами по чисто вимитій широкій фарбованій підлозі, сидіти на лавочці біля печі з книгою і час від часу ворушити тліючі поліна, хочеться побачити нічне небо, всипане зірками, щоб воно прямо куполом було видно, щоб починалося від самої землі, а не від даху сусіднього багатоповерхівки. Вранці хочеться прокидатися від співу птахів, від звуків природи, а не від шуму машин. Можливо, це втома від міста, від багатолюдних вулиць? Або так буває, коли тобі за 40?
Село заселене, є продуктовий магазинчик, і якщо що, від міста недалеко, всього 15 км. Є ще три тижні відпустки, на календарі вересень.
Іноді приходить думка залишитися в домі на зиму, але ще не впевнена, чи впорається? Настав час прислухатися до себе, дістати потаємні мрії на світ божий і втілити їх у реальність. У всякому разі, якщо стане складно, можна повернутися в будь-який момент.
Граф вийшов з машини, насторожено поглядаючи по боках і притискаючись до ніг, наче вірний собака: трава така висока, у ній можуть ховатися вороги. Він хлопець міський, звик до квартирного життя, а тут якісь зарості, пташки співають, метелики пурхають.
Відчинила двері навстіж, вікна теж, принесла оберемок дров з сараю. Піч двічі невдоволено виплюнула клуби диму в дім, а потім пом’якшилася, заспокоїлась, сухі дрова затріщали, розгорілися. Заодно розтопила стареньку баню, в якій досі пахло березовим віником і сухим соняшником. Навела порядок, засучивши рукави, перекусила бутербродами, намащуючи скибки хрусткого багету насиченим арахісовим маслом і запиваючи чаєм. Граф, підкріпившись шматочком вареної курки, дивився на її клопоти, влаштувавшись у кріслі. А вона раптом, віджимаючи ганчірку для підлоги, впіймала себе на тому, що співає. Слів пісні не пам’ятає, просто муркоче мотив з якогось фільму з Інною Чуриковою. Сама собі здивувалася — давно не співала.
Вересень — місяць збору врожаю в селі: того ж дня вона купила у сусідів овочі, яйця, відро яблук, банку меду і заглянула в місцевий магазинчик.
У бані пахло завареними травами, сріблилася холодна кринична вода в відрах, сердито шипіло розпечене каміння. Жар огортав, окутував, пестив тіло, зігрівав кожну клітинку, і тим приємніше було облитися прохолодною водою. Відпочивала на ґанку, закутавшись у пухнастий махровий халат. В ранніх осінніх сутінках затишно світилося віконце в будинку, собаки пліткували. На небі Бог увімкнув Місяць, випустив прогулятися Велику Ведмедицю з ведмежам, сів у крісло читати вечірню газету, погойдуючи ногою в хутряній тапочці біля теплого каміна. Палаючі дрова час від часу фуркали, іскрилися, а іскри падали на землю. “Дивіться, зірка падає”,— говорили в цей час люди.
Граф знайшов у траві жабу і не знав, що тепер робити. Вечір пахнув фіалкою, стиглою малиною та яблуком.
Поки в старенькій духовці рум’янів капустяний пиріг, вона крупно нарізала великий стиглий помідор, сир і житню булку, відкрила банку з оливками, заварила чай з корицею. Вечеря вийшла пізньою, але смачною.
Зранку вставала рано, йшла в ліс. Дихала, нюхала, усміхалася, розмовляла з дятлом, цікавилася, чи не болить у нього голова, ділилася хлібною скоринкою з білкою. Гриби запікала в сметані, з стиглої брусниці варила варення: з медом, з яблуком, з грушею.
Вересень балував теплими сонячними днями, тихими вечорами, заспокоював, наче відвар пустирника, кликав на кухню варити каву, пекти імбирне печиво на сніданок чи сирний пиріг, обіймав у вечори теплим картатим пледом, грів ноги м’якими вовняними шкарпетками, садовив на ту саму лавочку і подавав у руки улюблену книгу.
Граф, як і раніше, не виявляв бажання знайомитися з місцевими пам’ятками, але з задоволенням виходив увечері на ґанок, щоб помилуватися зоряним небом разом з господинею. Сусід нещодавно скосив траву навколо будинку, і тепер тут пахне кавуном. У скошеній траві шурхотять мишенята, збирають сухі травинки: стара миша зіткне траву в клубки і зв’яже для холодної зими велике тепле покривало, що пахне солодким конюшиною.
В один із днів вибралась на місцевий цвинтар, прибрати на могилках рідних. Біля одного з свіжих горбків лежала собака. Звичайна двірняжка, невелика, худенька, з тужливими очима. Від запропонованого пиріжка відвернулася. Сусіди потім пояснили: померла нещодавно старенька, одинока, от її собака тепер сиротою залишилася, всі дні напроліт там топчеться.
Вона прийшла зранку, сіла поруч із цим втіленням печалі і почала говорити. Про те, що старенькі люди йдуть, і нічого з цим не вдієш, їх не повернеш, як би ми не хотіли. Про те, що вона теж пережила біль втрати близьких людей і розуміє її горе. Тільки є час для смутку, а є для радості. Час для смутку закінчився, пора йти додому і жити далі. Я назву тебе Алькою, казала вона і гладила собаку. Ми будемо приходити сюди, обов’язково будемо, але жити будемо в домі, будемо топити піч, варити кашу, чекати зиму. Ви з котом будете дім охороняти, я — їздити на роботу. Взимку все завалить снігом, ми станемо розчищати доріжки, ліпити снігову бабу, наряджати на Новий рік ялинку, робити годівничку для птахів. Піду, Алька, я дам тобі теплого супу, покрошу туди булку, все буде добре. І собака пішла…
…У листопаді, на підморожену землю випав сніг і вже не розтанув. Сонячних днів в останній місяць осені було мало, але це не заважало їм бути щасливими. Щастя було поруч, тут і зараз, у кожній дрібниці і не залежало від погоди: у чашці чаю, в вазочці з варенням, в калейдоскопі фарб приголомшливих світання, в відтаявшій від горя собаці, що поїдає кашу, у притихлій, засинаючий до весни природі, в згорнутому клубком плюшевому кітсі-сплюшці, навіть у запаху гіркого диму топленої лазні було щастя і в звуках, що набираються у відрі води в колодязі. Не страшні морози і холоди, якщо на душі тепло, а в домі затишно. У кожної людини має бути куточок, де вона знаходить гармонію, де слухає і чує, де може залікувати душевні рани і забути про негаразди. Вона знайшла це місце.
— Мамо, а ти що, в місто жити не переїжджаєш, скоро зима,— питав син по телефону. Я не можу, я Альці обіцяла. Вона ж мені повірила. Ми ще не зліпили снігову бабу. Краще ви приїжджайте до нас на Новий рік, буде чудово. Тут прекрасно! Я лижі на горищі знайшла, дві пари. Рибу запечемо з травами… Вона говорила і усміхалася, а небо над нею було куполом і починалося від самої землі.
Зима готувалася накрити світ пухнатим, товстим покривалом.
The Grey Mouse Is Happier Than You
Emily, honestly, are you kidding me right now? Jessica stared at her faded cotton dress with a look reserved for...
She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—Yet I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Vegetable Beds — “What are you doing here?” Standing in the middle of the swan-shaped flower beds, my mother-in-law shouted, “There’s never been such disgrace here before! I had seven children—never a single weed!” Her shriek drew the neighbours, who clung to the fence like crows and immediately dissected everything they heard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law took great pleasure in performing. I stood, speechless, as she went on. At last, worn out from shouting, she drew a breath and said loudly enough for all the neighbours to hear: I didn’t say a word. I walked calmly past my mother-in-law, holding my child even closer. Once inside, I divided up, in a special box, everything my mother-in-law was to take that evening and the next morning. Without folding anything, I tossed my son’s things and mine into a bag. I left without saying a word. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: “What did you do with all those things the professor gave her? I asked the neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar is very expensive. The ones with foreign labels, well, we don’t use those or exchange them. So what am I to do? You left, offended for some reason, and here I am, about to meet my maker!” I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That’s it. I can’t go on—I have no physical or emotional strength left. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on an icy road. I vaguely remember saying goodbye for the last time, the ambulance taking him away, and waking up the next morning as a new mother… I didn’t care about anything. The world felt empty and pointless without my beloved husband. I nursed and rocked my son like clockwork, because that’s what I was told to do. A phone call snapped me out of my stupor. “Your mother-in-law is in bad shape. Apparently, she won’t last much longer.” I made my decision at once: after settling things, I sold my flat in London. I invested some of the money into building a home, so my son will have something of his own when he grows up. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year, I haven’t really lived—I’ve just existed. I had no time for sleep, caring for both my mother-in-law and my baby son. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law required round-the-clock care. At least I had the money. I called in the best specialists from all over the UK; I bought every medication prescribed. Eventually, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. At first, I wheeled her through the house, then around the garden. By the end, she was strong enough to walk—on her own—as if nothing had happened… I don’t want to know her now, or hear from her ever again. Let her work out everything she needs for her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all the money on her recovery. My son and I moved to our new flat. I never imagined it would end like this. I wanted to be close with my husband’s family, since I am an orphan myself. But now it’s just me. I need to teach my son: not everyone deserves kindness. Some people care more about a tidy vegetable patch.
I managed to get my mother-in-law back on her feet. But honestly, Im fuming because I didnt get around to...
For Two Years, Maria Was Just the Carer for Her Mother-in-Law Maria Managed to Marry a Very Distinguished Gentleman: All Her Friends Were Jealous. Her Husband Owned His Own Business, a Gated Luxury Home, Several Cars and a Cottage in the Countryside, All by Thirty-Two. Maria, Having Just Graduated and Worked as a Teacher for a Year, Married Him That Summer. After the Wedding, Her Husband Said There Was No Need for His Wife to Work for Peanuts. He Asked Her to Stay Home and Prepare for Children, and Maria Did Not Object. The First Year of Marriage Felt Like a Fairy Tale: Maria and Her Husband Travelled, Creating Memories and Buying Expensive Things. Yet Maria Had Nowhere to Wear Her New Clothes—Her Friends Were Busy Working and Spending Weekends With Their Families. Her Husband Often Partied Without Ever Inviting Maria. Maria Was Bored. Unable to Have Children, Her Feelings for Her Husband Faded. After Finishing Her Household Tasks, She Roamed Room to Room, Wondering About Her Future. A Year Passed. Her Husband Was Rarely Home, Often Returning in the Evenings, Exhausted and Irritable, Claiming His Business Was Struggling. First, He Told His Wife to Spend Less. Then He Demanded She Account for Every Purchase and Expense, Calculating and Insisting They Could Live Just as Well for Half the Amount. Maria Grew Worried. She Wanted to Work, But Couldn’t Find a Teaching Position. She Decided to Enrol on a Course, But Then Her Mother-in-Law Fell Ill, and Maria Had to Take Care of Her for Two Years. Her Husband Moved His Mother In. Maria Did Everything, Caring for the Sick. Her Husband Came Home Even Less. When Her Mother-in-Law Passed Away, Her Husband Grew Even More Distant—Barely Speaking to Maria, Withdrawn, Spending Most of His Time at Work and Seldom Returning Home. Maria Couldn’t Understand What Had Happened Until She Visited Her Mother-in-Law’s Old Flat, Where She Hadn’t Been for Ages. Behind Closed Doors, She Heard a Child Crying. Surprised, Maria Rang the Bell. A Young Woman Opened the Door—Maria Learned Her Husband Had Started a Second Family Before His Mother’s Illness, and Then Installed Them in His Mother’s Flat. For Maria, It Was a Shock. She Realised She Couldn’t Save Her Marriage. She Left for Another City, to Her Aunt, Practically With Nothing but a Small Bag—Not Wanting Anything Reminding Her of Her Marriage or How Badly Her Life Had Turned Out…
For two years, Emily was nothing more than a nurse to his mother. Emily managed to marry a man who...
My Husband Brought a Colleague to Our Christmas Eve Dinner—So I Asked Them Both to Leave
Where have you put the napkins? I told you to get the ones with the silver pattern; they match the...
“We’ll Be Staying With You For A While, We Can’t Afford To Rent A Flat!” – Said My Friend I’m a very active woman. Even though I’m 65, I still manage to visit fascinating places and meet interesting people. I recall my youth with both joy and nostalgia—back then, you could holiday wherever you liked! You could go to the seaside, or camping with friends, or set sail down any river, all for little money. Sadly, those days are gone. I always loved meeting new people, be it on the beach or at the theatre, and many friendships lasted years. One day, I met a woman named Sarah. We were holidaying at the same seaside guesthouse and parted as friends. Years passed and we’d occasionally exchange letters. Then, one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at three in the morning. Meet me!” I couldn’t imagine who would send it. My husband and I didn’t go anywhere, but at four in the morning, there was a knock at our door. Opening it, I was stunned—standing there was Sarah, two teenage girls, her mother, and a man, with a mountain of luggage. My husband and I were bewildered, but we let them in. Then Sarah asked me: “Why didn’t you come to meet us? I sent you a telegram! And you know, that cost me!” “Sorry, but we didn’t know who sent it.” “Well, you gave me your address. So, here I am.” “I thought we’d just write letters, that’s all!” Sarah explained that one of the girls had just finished school and wanted to attend university. The family had come to support her. “We’ll be living with you! We have no money for a flat or hotel!” I was shocked—we weren’t even family! Why should we let them stay with us? We had to feed them three times a day. They’d brought some food, but didn’t cook, just ate ours. I ended up looking after everyone. I couldn’t take it anymore, so after three days I asked Sarah and her family to leave. I didn’t care where to. There was an awful row. Sarah started smashing crockery and screamed hysterically. I was utterly appalled. As they packed up, they managed to steal my bathrobe, several towels, and—astonishingly—even a large saucepan. I still don’t know how they got it out, but that pan simply vanished! And so ended our friendship—thank goodness! I never saw or heard from her again. How can people be so shameless? Now, I’m much more wary when meeting new acquaintances.
Well be staying with you for a while because we havent got the money for a flat! my friend announced...
Snowdrifts of Destiny: How a Reluctant Lawyer and a Quiet Accountant Found Each Other When a Corporate Christmas Party Turned into an Unexpected Night of Confessions, Old Films, and Hopeful New Year Footprints
Snowdrifts of Fate Martin, a thirty-five-year-old solicitor, absolutely loathed New Years Eve. For him, it wasnt a festive celebration, but...
You Don’t Deserve It — “After my divorce, I thought I’d never be able to trust anyone again,” Andrew said, turning an empty espresso cup between his fingers. His voice broke and trembled so convincingly that Ksenia instinctively leaned closer. “You know, when you’ve been betrayed, it’s like losing a part of yourself. She left a scar I’ll never get over. I truly believed I wouldn’t survive it…” Andrew sighed heavily and talked for a long time—about the wife who never appreciated him, about the pain that wouldn’t let go, about how terrified he was to start over. Every word settled in Ksenia’s heart like a warm pebble, and she already imagined she’d be the woman to restore his faith in love. Together, they would heal his wounds. He’d finally see that real happiness was possible—with her. It wasn’t until their second date, between dessert and coffee, that Andrew mentioned Maxim… “I have a son, by the way. He’s seven. He lives with his mother, but spends every weekend with me. The court decided that.” “That’s wonderful!” Ksenia gave a bright smile. “Children are such a blessing.” She pictured Saturday morning breakfasts for three, trips to the park, cozy evenings watching TV. The boy would need a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She would be his second mum—not to replace the real one, of course, but to be someone close, someone he could rely on… “You’re really sure you don’t mind?” Andrew looked at her with an odd smirk that Ksenia mistook for distrust. “Most women run for the hills when they hear I have a child.” “I’m not most women,” she replied proudly. …The first weekend with Maxim was a proper celebration. Ksenia made blueberry pancakes—his favourite, as Andrew had warned her. She patiently sat with a maths textbook, making problems easy to understand, washed his dinosaur T-shirt, ironed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine. “You should take a break,” she told Andrew one day, noticing how he sprawled out on the sofa with the remote in his hand. “I’ve got this.” Andrew nodded—gratefully, so she thought at the time. Now she realised it was the nod of a man accepting what was rightfully his. …Months became years. Ksenia worked as a manager in a logistics company—out at eight in the morning, back at seven at night. The pay was pretty decent, as far as London went. Enough for two. But there were three of them. “They’ve delayed the project again,” Andrew would announce as if reporting a natural disaster. “The client bailed. But there’s a big contract just round the corner, I promise.” The big contract hovered on the horizon for a year and a half. Sometimes it seemed closer, sometimes it drifted away, but it never actually arrived. The bills, on the other hand, showed up right on cue. Rent. Electricity. Internet. Groceries. Child maintenance for Marina. New trainers for Max. School fees. Ksenia paid the lot without complaint. She saved on lunches, brought in tubs of pasta, refused to take a taxi even in the pouring rain. She hadn’t splashed out on a manicure for over a year—did her own nails, trying not to think about how she used to afford pampering at the salon. In three years Andrew gave her flowers exactly three times. She remembered each bunch—cheap, slightly withered supermarket roses from the corner stall, the thorns already broken off. Probably a discount… The first bouquet came as an apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second—after a row when her friend visited with no warning. The third was brought home after he missed her birthday because he stayed out with his mates (or simply forgot…) “Andrew, I don’t need expensive presents,” she tried to keep her voice gentle, choosing every word. “But sometimes, I’d just like to know you’re thinking of me. Even a card…” His face twisted instantly. “Money, it’s always about money with you, isn’t it? Presents, presents. Does love mean anything to you? All I’ve been through, and you complain?” “I didn’t mean—” “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like mud. “After everything I’ve done for you, you still find something to whinge about.” Ksenia fell silent. She always did—it was just easier that way. Easier to live, easier to breathe, easier to pretend everything was fine. Strangely, Andrew always managed to find money for nights out with friends. Pubs, watching the football, café meetups every Thursday. He’d come home tipsy and cheerful, reeking of sweat and cigarettes, falling onto the bed without noticing Ksenia was still awake. She told herself: this is just how things are. Love means sacrifice. Love means patience. He’ll change. Of course he’ll change. I just have to wait a bit longer, love him a bit harder, give him all the support he needs—he’s been through so much… …Any talk of a wedding was like walking through a minefield. “We’re happy as we are—why do we need a piece of paper?” Andrew would shrug off the subject as if batting away a fly. “After what happened with Marina, I need time.” “Three years, Andrew. Three years is a long time.” “You’re putting pressure on me! It’s always the same with you.” He’d storm out of the room and end the conversation. Ksenia really wanted children. Her own, flesh and blood. She was twenty-eight, and her biological clock seemed to tick louder every month. But Andrew wasn’t up for being a father again—he already had a son, and, in his mind, that was plenty. …That Saturday she only asked for one day. Just one single day. “The girls have invited me round. We haven’t seen each other in ages. I’ll be back by evening.” Andrew looked at her as if she’d just announced plans to run off to another continent. “And Max?” “You’re his dad. You can spend the day with your son.” “So now you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I was planning to have a break?” Ksenia blinked. Then blinked again. In three years she had never left them alone. Not once. She cooked, cleaned, helped with schoolwork, did the washing, ironing—all while holding down a full-time job. “I just want to see my friends. For a few hours… And he’s your son, Andrew. Surely you can spend one day with him without me?” “You should love my son as you love me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You’re living in my flat, eating my food, and now you’re showing your true colours?!” His flat. His food. Ksenia was the one paying the rent. Ksenia bought the food from her wages. For three years she’d supported a man who shouted at her for wanting a day with her friends. She looked at Andrew—at his twisted face, the vein bulging on his forehead, clenched fists—and for the first time, truly saw him. Not the tragic victim of fate, not some lost soul in need of saving, but a grown man who was a master at exploiting someone else’s kindness. To him, Ksenia wasn’t a beloved partner or a future wife—just a financial backer and unpaid housekeeper. Nothing more. When Andrew left to drop Max off with Marina, Ksenia pulled out a travel bag. Her hands moved calmly, confidently—no shaking, no doubt. Passport. Phone. Charger. A couple of T-shirts. Jeans. The rest she could buy later. The rest didn’t matter. She didn’t bother leaving a note. What was the point of explaining things to someone who never really saw her anyway? The door closed quietly behind her. No drama. The phone calls started within the hour. First one, then another, then a deluge—an incessant ringing that made the phone vibrate in her hand. “Ksenia, where are you?! What’s going on?! I come home and you’re not here! How dare you? Where’s dinner? Am I supposed to go hungry? What’s all this nonsense?” She listened to his voice—angry, demanding, full of self-righteous outrage—and was amazed. Even now, when she’d left, Andrew only thought about himself. His inconvenience. Who would cook for him now? Not a single “sorry.” Not one “are you okay?” Just “how dare you.” Ksenia blocked his number. Then she found his profile in her chat app—blocked it. Social media—blocked. Every avenue he could use to reach her, she built a wall. Three years. Three years of living with a man who didn’t love her. Who used her kindness like it was disposable. Who convinced her that sacrificing herself was what love was all about. But love isn’t like that. Love doesn’t humiliate. Love doesn’t turn a living, breathing person into the hired help. Ksenia walked through the London evening—and, for the first time in ages, breathing came easy. She vowed to herself: never again would she confuse love with self-sacrifice. Never again would she rescue those who only trade on pity. Always, from now on, she would choose herself. Only herself.
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